


Neither can Live (while the other survives)

by Katology



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Good Remus Lupin, Good Sirius black, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, James Potter Bashing, Lily Evans Potter Bashing, M/M, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Neither the Light nor Dark are the "right" side, No Underage Sex, Purely platonic until Harry is of age, Rating will change as the story progresses, Sane Voldemort (Harry Potter), The Golden Trio Era (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2019-11-27 12:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18194672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katology/pseuds/Katology
Summary: (Rewrite of my first ever fanfic. If you like terribly written fics, read the original)Amor Anima Revelare- "Soul Love Reveal" (google translate)1/3 of all magicals have a soulmate. Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, thought he didn't have one.He did.





	1. -+- One -+-

Trembling in fear, the Death Eater spoke softly, “M-my Lord, I… I have news,”

 

Voldemort sat regal and elegant on his throne, considering the quivering figure in front of him. A ray of light hit his face at an angle; emphasizing his high cheekbones and smoldering ruby eyes. It gave his pale skin an unearthly golden glow. Especially with his serpentine appearance, he looked, frankly, untouchable.

 

He gave a false smile, intentions clearly read in his merciless eyes.

 

“Oh?” The Dark Lord said with an appraising stare. He tilted his head, beckoning Pettigrew to continue.

 

He frowned with annoyance when the rat stuttered the whole way through, “Wormtail,” he snapped, “Do _not_ stutter in my presence...”

 

Voldemort’s expression promised excruciating pain, “... or the _Cruciatus_ will _pale_ in comparison.” He paused briefly, allowing time for Pettigrew’s insipid brain to collect his thoughts, “Have I made myself clear?”

 

Pettigrew’s face turned white and shuddered slightly in fear. He bowed slightly, “Yes Mi’Lord,” he mumbled.

 

The Dark Lord smirked at the response, “Well?” he demanded harshly.

 

The words he spoke, trembling with every added word, seemed like it had gone through oceans of water before being heard; garbled and distorted. And yet; he could understand it full. He _almost_ wished he hadn’t.

 

It was a whole shift of perception. His entire world, his axis, was tilted and Voldemort couldn’t keep his footing. The world grew bright from the incredulity.

 

He fought to keep his face blank and magic docile. He wasn’t sure if he had managed to succeed.

 

“ _What?_ ” he asked lowly, emotionless and deadly-cold. Voldemort stared intently, leaning forward in his ebony throne.

 

Pettigrew was sure he could already hear Lestrange’s insane cackle. Bellatrix was, after all, Voldemort’s favorite torturer. He swallowed, prepared to get the punishment of his life. Wormtail spoke once more, confirming the predicament.

  


The Dark Lord stared blankly, rippling waves of magic practically radiating off of him. Rage was undeniably present, along with the antithesis; glee.

 

(he had a _one_ , he had an _intended,_ a fated)

 

It was a potent mixture. The… the _darkness_ pressed against him, all sides being squeezed with an ever growing force. Pettigrew knees wobbled from the pressure and fought to keep his footing.

 

He squinted his eyes shut, unwilling to watch the crimson light that will inevitably envelop him in fiery agony. Pettigrew cringed in fear when nothing happened- for what would be the longest few seconds of his life. All he heard was an incredulous exhale, and the subsequent brushing of robes as he slowly went his way down the dais. Then it was all quiet. Eerily quiet.

 

“Wormtail?” a chilling voice asked, so close and dangerously so, “How did you come across this… information?” he said wonderingly.

 

There was a puff of warm breath across his face, and Pettigrew recoiled with a squeak. When he opened his mouth hesitantly, the Dark Lord held up a hand and glared, “Rhetorical. I don’t need your insipid voice when your memories will work just nicely,”

 

He stared keenly into the rat’s fearful eyes, ruby penetrating a watery blue. Pettigrew shifted and turned away, studying the floor as if it was the most riveting thing in existence.

 

Voldemort let a dark smile curve across his lipless mouth; bringing a bony, spindly hand to grip his shoulder lightly.

 

It was like death’s caress. The touch was chilling, and the cold seeped down into his very bones. Goosebumps rose from his shoulder, going down his back in a shudder. It was like ice was being injected into his very veins; terror slowly spreading through him like a plague. Pettigrew held his breath and stiffened at the sensation.

 

“Look me in the eye… my servant,” Voldemort whispered softly, _murder_ dripping off of his tongue. Pettigrew was almost hyperventilating, sweat dripping off his temples. All it took was one shared glance, and the Dark Lord dove.

 

There were smalls globs of pearlescent white whizzing throughout Wormtail’s unorganized mind. They seemed to gravitate to the new presence, pulsing as the memories slowly edged their way towards Voldemort. Despite the fear that was rushing through the darkness, his mind seem to welcome him.

 

Side effect of the Dark Mark.

 

The Dark Lord smiled wolfishly at this, ( _they were all_ _his_ _),_ but turned his attention to the largest one, illuminating the otherwise dark abyss the most with its emphasis. He traced a finger down it, enjoying the warmth radiating off of it; before immersing himself in the memory.

 

Everything seemed hazy, weathered and faded. The colors were not as they should be, the moon a pale gray. It was dull and unassuming, not the bright, pastel yellow glow of the moon. Despite the clouds and swirling leaves curling along the sidewalk, no such breeze was able to be felt, fluttering against his skin with a faint tickle.

 

He watched with a faint sense of trepidation as Pettigrew walked up the gravel walkway and knocked on a shadowed wooden door.

 

There was a quiet curse and light footsteps muffled by the walls, inching closer and closer to the door. Lily Potter’s harsh face stuck her head out of the corner wand at ready. She huffed a relieved breath when she saw it was Pettigrew, though she narrowed her eyes.

 

“How does one stand next to a fully-formed werewolf without being in any danger?” she demanded.

 

Peter gave a wry smile, “By being a rat animagus,”

 

All of her tenseness went away at that simple statement, and she opened the door softly. Lily gave a tentative smile, green eyes glowing with a sudden warmth, before beckoning him inside with a wave of her hand. She called out for James and turned to face Pettigrew, smiling as she heard James start to walk down the stairs.

 

“So Peter,” Lily started, “How is your grandmother? Is she getting better?” she asked worriedly. She stared earnestly into Pettigrew’s now pale face, and her concern grew with that; eyebrows puckering slightly.

 

“She’s not good,” he said softly, “She has a fever and the potions aren’t working,”

 

Lily inhaled sharply before putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. He briefly tensed before forcing himself to relax, “She’ll be alright,” she said reassuringly, squeezing it once more before James walked into the room with a wide grin.

 

“Pete!” he said surprised, “What are you doing here?”

 

“I thought I’d come to visit. My uncle is at the house with Grandma right now, so I have some free time,” he shrugged.

 

“I didn’t know you had an uncle,” James commented absently. Peter sharply twisted his head to look at James, to decipher his emotions, but he stopped short; almost gaping in shock.

 

He was glaring heinously at the unassuming crib in the other room, almost growling. Fire was in his eyes, malice almost radiating off him in waves. There was a small cry, _a babies cry,_ and James yelled, “QUIET, BOY!”

 

The baby sobbed louder before Lily stomped into there, fury written all over her face. Little Harry quieted instantly, green eyes he inherited from his mother glassy from unshed tears. They both settled down on the couch seemingly and particularly smug.

 

“So, Peter,” Lily started, her face clear of the darkness previously evident, “How-”

 

She paused, staring thoughtfully at Peter and gave a huffed breath, “You’re wondering why Harry’s crib is in the spare room,”

 

Voldemort felt Pettigrew’s incredulous expression even through the memory itself.

 

“That’s an understatement,” Pettigrew commented.

 

James gave a sharp look at Lily, a questioning mien on the downturn of his lips. She gave a quick nod and glanced back at Peter meaningfully.

 

“He is…” She winced at the pronouncement, “Well, its best if you see,”

 

James sat back on the couch, a green tinged hue coloring his face. He looked away for a moment and collected himself. He nodded jerkily.

 

Lily sat up and walked towards her son, who started edging away; trembling in fear and sobbing. Her nose scrunched. Like her _child_ was the most putrid thing in existence.

 

Pot- _Harry_ had messy black hair. It was the most recognizable trait, along with his pale skin and green eyes. They were different from the emerald of his _mother’s_ however, they… they looked like the killing curse.

 

Voldemort’s ruby eyes stared thoughtfully into Harry’s unwitting ones. They were, frankly, beautiful. Striking. Distinctive. And whole host of other synonyms.

 

Then the most recognized incantation in the wizarding world was spoke:

 

“ _Amor Anima Revelare,_ ”

 

Spidery handwriting rose in the form of dark smoke, swirling until it took a recognizable form. It spelled the name, ‘ _Tom Marvolo Riddle_.’

 

Silence ensued as the Potter’s glared at the handwriting. Lily gave a noticeable noise of disgust.

 

“...What?” Peter blurted, “Uh… that sounds like a nice name. Your child’s soulmate is male… is that a problem?”

 

James barked out a laugh, “Oh, of course I don’t mind that it’s intended is male… the problem is _who_ that name belongs to,”

 

Despite the unoriginal, _normal,_ name; Peter felt a shiver run down his spine, “Who does he belong to?”

 

Lily bared her teeth, “Lord Voldemort,”

 

Everything fell, milky whites, grays, and the small sliver of fiery red hair swirled until the Dark Lord found himself back in his throne room; standing in front of the prone Wormtail. His hand was still on his shoulder.

 

Pettigrew was still breathing heavily, on the verge of hyperventilating. With a jerk, Voldemort removed his hand from the rat.

 

With a slow blink, the Dark Lord waved his yew wand over his chest with a murmur. ‘ _Harry James Potter’_ rose from the green smoke. He gave a sharp inhale at the lettering, and whipped his head towards Pettigrew. The ever present fire in his eyes grew uncontrollably.

 

“TELL ME WHERE THEY LIVE!” he snarled. Spittle landed on the rat’s face and Pettigrew paled even further, not even attempting to wipe it off.

 

“G-godric’s Hollow,”

 

What would have been in any other case a glorious sentence, only brought him a potent fury.

 

His _soulmate._ His intended- was being _abused_ just because of who he was; a Dark Lord. Obviously, he has no such qualms of suddenly becoming a benevolent model citizen; however, he will do everything in his power to save and cherish his soulmate. That’s the least he deserves.

 

And by everything, he means everything. His fated will receive the best. He will not want for nothing.

 

He was not Lord Voldemort, the most feared Dark Lord in all of Europe for nothing; he will… he will _torture_ his parents. They will scream, beg, plead for the agony to end; for death to envelop them in an icy cloak.

 

Voldemort smirked at the thought of Mrs. Potter’s red hair ripped from her head, blood pouring down her eyes as she whimpered; cuts all throughout her body. Mr. Potter’s legs torn off, him slowly losing consciousness. It wouldn’t matter if they tried. He will keep them awake until he grew bored.

 

 _Maybe he ought to let Bella have a go,_ he thought idly.

 

There was another pathetic whimper that broke him out of his sadistic thoughts, and his magic flared menacingly, “GET OUT!” he screamed. Pettigrew squeaked and scampered out.

 

A serene quiet overtook the room; the only sounds the angered, heavy breathing of the Dark Lord.

 

Then even those stopped, and the soft words of, “I'm coming for you, my soulmate,” trailed through the empty room. It was a whisper, and Voldemort prepared and sat at the next Death Eater meeting, troubled thoughts evidently consuming their Lord.

 

None of his followers asked. They didn’t dare to.

 

Miles away, in the quaint village of Godric’s Hollow, a small boy named Harry Potter was curled in the fetal position. Silent tears rolled down his cheeks and faint sniffles emanated from the child.

 

Little Harry wondered what the fiery feeling came from. It was like… redness. He wanted to smash something. And in the safety of his own thoughts, his mummy and daddy came to mind.

 

But that was _wrong._ Little Harry was smart, and he knew that his parents treated him badly because of something he did.

 

If only he knew, then Mummy and Daddy would love him. He would fix whatever it was.


	2. -+- Two -+-

Harry gurgled happily as Remus waved his wand. Rainbow bubbles came off the tip, popping as his cub’s inquisitive fingers poked them.

The werewolf gave a sad smile as little Harry grew so exuberant over these simple pleasures. It was… It was beyond horrifying that _his_ cub was maltreated. He thought that he knew Lily and James… He never thought them capable of such atrocities.

 

They seemed so excited to have a child. _So_ excited. James and Lily had even prepared the child’s room, painting it even when Lily’s belly was so full she couldn’t walk straight. She was adamant to help put together her baby boy’s room. Her fiery personality came out fully that night, calmly telling James with a terrifying glint in her eye that:

 

_She. Will. Help. Paint._

 

When Harry was born, James had cried. And to be fair, so did himself and Remus, but James _sobbed._ When he first held his child, he cuddled him to his chest and whispered promises of protection and love as Lily tiredly watched with a content and watery smile. Dumbledore and Minerva had stood in the background, viewing the proceedings with a small grin

 

But… everything changed. He doesn’t even know when it started.

 

It first started when he saw Lily scowl at Harry for cooing happily at his mother, but the expression flattened to a hastily drawn fondness. Remus written it off as nothing. He had forgotten about it, after all, and only remembered the past few weeks when everything became so much worse.

 

He didn’t know when bruises became a regular upon Harry’s bright face, though he slowly and slowly looked so _downtrodden._ Remus privately had his suspicions and his smile became more and more strained as he visited his… friends.

 

Sirius had seen it before him. And like the _fool_ he was, Remus defended James and Lily. He pretended that nothing was happening, that _nothing_ was happening to his cub; burying his head under the sand and believing the pretty lie.

 

Sirius had snarled and strode away, fists tense and steps jarring. He soon found out that he confronted the Potter’s the next day. Remus had never seen him in the house again. Hell, Remus had never seen him _ever_ again after that fateful day.

 

Whispers from the darker circles indicate that he was captured. Some say that he was killed. Some say that he fled. None are conclusive.

 

His delusion had _finally_ gotten broken when he witnessed first-hand Lily smacking her child, and then crying in frustration and marching out of the house, red hair blazing behind her. James just watched sympathetically; and most horribly, towards Lily’s plight.

 

Not for his child whimpering pathetically on the carpeted floor, a painful red blooming on his full cheeks.

 

He’d seen them on multiple occasions after the fact; watching them feed him well under the normal amount for a healthy child. Remus could still see the multiple, bruising handprints from being slapped and hit. It is testament to Harry’s ill-gained maturity and almost presciental forethought that he didn’t attempt to cry for very long.

 

Harry knew that if he cried for more than a few seconds, nothing good would come of it. No one would help. No one would care. It would make things worse.

 

If it wasn’t for the _Fidelius,_ Remus would grab his cub and whisk him away to some far away place, where they would both be safe from his… _parents_ and Lord Voldemort; whom he knew was coming to murder the entire family.

 

Dumbledore had informed the order of this disheartening fact. That for some reason the Potter’s were in more danger than before; being personally targeted by the Dark Lord.

 

The select few who heard about this were, understandably, shocked. Especially Sn- _Severus,_ who seemed particularly green.

 

If it weren’t for the Fidelius… well, nothing would stop him. But, because he wasn’t the Secret Keeper or the secret themselves, he can’t alter it. James, Lily, and Harry Potter lived at Godric’s Hollow. It was uncounterable.

 

Remus wouldn’t be kept from his cub. He had no choice but to act ignorant to Harry’s suffering, to as much precious time with him has possible. To make sure that Harry would have some semblance of love, even if it wasn’t from his parents.

 

Remus gave a shuddering sigh, fingers clenching bone-white on his wand as tears prickled in his amber eyes. They flashed a bright yellow before dimming with a small sob.

 

He hunched on himself, watching the bubbles pop. Harry give a small frown, reaching his hand and grasping at thin air. A small whimper escaped the werewolf at the sight of Harry. By all means, just a normal kid; and yet, he was being punished for existing.

 

For existing.

 

Half-moon crescents dug into his palm. It left a mark.

 

He was brought out of his reverie when he heard a soft snuffle. His heart almost soared out of chest with unfathomable warmth when he saw Harry sleeping. Harry looked innocent, gone from the world and safely kept within his dreams.

 

Remus gingerly grabbed onto Harry’s dozing form and cocooned him in his strong arms. He still slept, and the werewolf laid him down in his crib. Harry stretched within the confines, gave a small mumble, and fell still; only occasionally giving a small twitch in his slumber.

 

That crushing _love_ turned into an incomprehensible sadness.

 

Remus didn’t even realize he fell asleep on the couch, dried tear-tracks on his face and curled into a fetal position.

 

A startling wail rang within Remus’ dreams, plunging him into the foggy waters of consciousness.

 

He opened his eyes with a groan, another bitten off cry digging mercilessly into his ears; sensitive from the upcoming full moon. The grating sound pounded in his mind. It was suffering, fright, and every negative emotion culminated into a single whimper. With a jolt he realized it was Harry… his cub.

 

He sat up violently, jerking to watch as Harry’s childish face grimaced into an unconscious frown. Tears ran down his face, body twitching, and small whines bursting out of his throat in his nightmares. Magic poured out of his tiny body, heady and it felt… innocent. Darkened from the abuse, but ultimately innocent due to his age.

 

It swirled hesitantly. The magic, it was almost uncertain; it was like a cornered cat, glancing everywhere for a potential escape route. Small ripples escaped the tight confinement of the crib.

 

Remus stood up, any lasting drowsiness dissipated by now. He strode towards the crib, taking in with a heavy heart his cub’s frightened wails. He stopped short when a sort of.. darkness dribbled out of Harry’s body; going past the already present light.

  
The werewolf gaped at the feel. That magic didn’t feel natural against Harry’s. They were polar opposites, one as dark as one is light; and they both had spots of the other’s magic in it.

 

Spots of light in the dark, spots of dark in the light.

 

It disappeared before Remus could study it further… but something tickled against his chest, and it _burrowed._

 

It felt like a sharp rapier digging into his pectorals. Twisting with every erratic motion and pulling the flesh equally in all directions. Undercurrents of a numbing cold radiated off the site. Shivers perpetuated after the pain in waves.

  
A wave of excruciating agony, a wave of a biting chill. The difference between them both were discernible at first. But it melded together.

 

The rapier became ice-cold, and Remus screamed.

 

But everything vanished. Disappeared in an instant. Fleeting, like it wasn’t even there to begin with; as short lived as the noise of a gunshot. Gone before one could comprehend what it meant, red blooming on their chest as the world tilted and submerged into an inky black.

 

Remus felt oddly hollow, the sudden absence of pain unnerving. With a slow blink, he stared incredulously at Harry; who was now sleeping peacefully, slowly breathing and a small smile on his face.

 

He just stared as he wondered, _Did I imagine everything?_

 

* * *

 

 

“Dismissed,” Lord Voldemort said shortly.

 

Every last one of his Death Eaters sped out in record time. They obviously had felt and seen the… mood the Dark Lord was in. Even the crazed Bellatrix, she slinked out first; still shaking from the abundant _crucios_ placed upon her.

 

Severus bowed as he walked out, not once afflicted with the torture curse.

 

With an absent wave of Voldemort’s pale hand, the door closed with a slam.

 

The Dark Lord slumped from his impeccable posture and sighed, elbows on the armrests of his throne and face in his hands. The glamour surrounding him gave a soft light, before dissipating in soft sparkles.

 

The magic slowly trickled down his body, hair suddenly appearing as if it had always been there. His skin grew more human-colored, albeit still pale, and the visible veins all over his body receded.

 

His psyche mellowed at the face of his original body; all of the angry, chattering thoughts vanished. He needed his serpentine facade to invoke fear into the lesser Death Eaters… but it had a noticeable impact on his emotions and self-control.

 

The now Tom Riddle sighed as a sense of peace washed over him.

 

And there was the _Dark Lord_ , in all of his glory; elbows perched on the armrests and fingers rubbing at his temples.

 

Severus… was getting worrying.

 

He told the inner circle his plans to target the Potter’s, and Tom _saw_ Snape’s lapse. His face turned bone white, paler than even his natural skin tone. He saw the way his fingers twitched for a minute moment, eyes blown and _horrified._

 

Severus stayed behind, begging on his knees, head bowed, to _spare_ Mrs. Potter, to spare Lily Evans.

 

In his serpentine guise, he couldn’t comprehend why Snape would do such a thing; the understanding hidden behind blind rage and confusion.

 

“Could you spare her, please- My Lord?” Snape asked quietly, “You can kill the others, Potter and his spawn. Though not Lily; please...”

 

The thought of Harry’s dead body made him recoil, eyes flashing in irrational anger. He let out a soft growl. And Snape saw it. His gaze turned _heartbroken_ in an instant, before being wiped away cleanly.

 

Efficiently.

 

And yet… he stayed, kneeling and unrepentant about it.

 

The Dark Lord’s gaze turned harsh and mocking, ignoring the small pang at how _he_ was the same; yet condemning Severus for it. He didn’t even know Harry, he doesn’t know if he would ever, or will love him. But he would do anything to ensure his safety.

 

“Why?” Voldemort said wonderingly, “Why should I spare the mudblood?”

 

The Dark Lord watched Severus suppress a flinch, “She was already beautiful in school, and now…” he trailed off.

 

Voldemort’s face darkened, “ _Such_ _lies Severus,_ ” he hissed, grabbing a fistful of his dark hair and pulling down. Snape gasped, forced to stare up at the Dark Lord.

 

Severus stared apprehensively, straight into his eyes. The grip on his hair was tight, most likely painful, and he was almost lifted from his kneeling position, “We both know that you don’t desire her… tell me the truth, because I am already feeling reluctant to oblige you… my servant,”

 

What fragile control Snape had died and shattered in an instant, “Please,” he pleaded, “I’m sorry, I… she was my childhood friend. Spare her… please,”

 

“You _dare_ order me around?”

 

“No! Never, My Lord,” Severus quickly assured, “This is but a simple request, from your humble servant. It is up to your violation to fulfill or ignore…”

 

Voldemort stared down, ruby boring into a black. He released Severus’ hair and he gasped at the sudden release of pressure, though he didn’t rise from his position.

 

Memories fluttered by, of _Lily’s_ disgusted stare as she glanced at his soulmate.

 

“No,” Voldemort said, “I will not spare her,”

 

Snape opened his mouth once, before closing it with a snap.

 

“Yes?” he inquired.

 

“Nothing,” Snape assured in monotone, “If I may be excused, My Lord?”

 

Voldemort tilted his head, “You may leave,”

 

Snape made a hurry to exit. Every Death Eater meeting forward, Severus was not the same. He was more hesitant, cautious, and stared at everyone around him as if _their_ the enemy; calculative.

 

Severus was his favorite for several reasons; he prowess with magic, his intelligence, his _relatability._

  
He had always seen part of himself in the gangly teenager, and now the poised adult with billowing robes. Voldemort knew deep down that he had lost him when he refused to spare his friend.

 

But willful ignorance, or perhaps unwillingness to accept the inevitable, made everything that much harder.

 

Tom Riddle sighed and strode out of the room, and down a firelit corridor.

 

A sudden _pull_ shot through his core, and Tom doubled over with a groan. Some of his magic swirled around his torso, before winking out of existence.

 

He felt considerably empty and hollow at the feeling, and exhausted in a way he hasn’t been in a long time.

 

Magical exhaustion. He hasn’t felt that since his Hogwarts days, and it was terrifying; though he would never admit it.

 

He lifted himself up from the stone floor (when had he fallen down?) and dusted his robes off. With a hastily cast diagnostic spell, a scroll appeared in front of him. It unrolled in mid-air, and it read... nothing.

 

Nothing to explain what had happened. With a faint sense of trepidation, Tom frowned at the readings.

 

Later in bed, Tom Riddle recalled that when in danger, young soulmates can siphon off magic from their intended. It was to help protect the younger match until they would grow able to defend themselves.

 

Icy dread washed through him, the pain earlier feeble compared to the achy worry.

 

For Harry.

  
His soulmate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof sorry for the long wait, my muse just... vanished on me.
> 
> I apologize and I hope you enjoy the chapter! :D
> 
> ~Katelynn Irene Lovegood

**Author's Note:**

> There are six chapters I have to rewrite. This is the first :) I hope its better and you enjoy it!
> 
> Like last time, there will be no set schedule. Sorry...
> 
> Comments and Kudos are (always) appreciated. 
> 
> ~Katelynn Irene Lovegood


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